


shot in the dark

by inblackink



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Blood, canon compliant until 4x12, mentions of abuse and physical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:33:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27867689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inblackink/pseuds/inblackink
Summary: What now?Mickey thinks.What now? What now? What now?It’s all he thinks, even when Ian’s huddling close, his fingers pushing through hair that’s sticky with blood and beer and fuck knows what else, kissing Mickey’s head and holding him.(a short little 4x11 reaction fic)
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 8
Kudos: 108





	shot in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a _long_ time ago— before 4x12 even aired if that tells you anything — and published to my (now defunct) [fic tumblr](https://inblackinkfic.tumblr.com/) way back when. So it's canon compliant up until that episode. In the future I might retool it to fit canon, but for now I'll leave it as is.

_What now?_ Mickey thinks.

_What now? What now? What now?_

It’s all he thinks, even when Ian’s huddling close, his fingers pushing through hair that’s sticky with blood and beer and fuck knows what else, kissing Mickey’s head and holding him. 

_What now._

“Let’s go home,” Ian says, like that’s a good enough answer. And it is. It’s the only thing _to_ do.

They’re quiet on the walk back and Mickey can’t stop thinking; can’t allow himself to think _too_ hard, though, running circles around everything that just fucking happened, because if he thinks too hard he’ll probably lose it. Now that the adrenaline isn’t pumping through him anymore, letting him run his mouth and throw his fists, it’s — different. So he repeats it in his head.

_What now? Go home. Ian’s._

He puts one foot in front in the other, Ian beside him the whole time, both of them grunting a little on every few breaths. Their arms brush. People pass by on the sidewalks and Mickey doesn’t notice if they’re looking or not, couldn’t give a shit about that if he tried right now. Some strangers curling their lips in disgust is the least of his problems, and the ache in his knuckles is enough to remind him that he’s not about to put up with anymore bullshit anyway. There’s one less mask he’s gotta wear now, one less front he’s gotta defend.

A few minutes later, lungs burning from the cold and boots scraping on the pavement, they finally make it to Ian’s, where it’s warm and where it smells familiar. Mickey wonders when that happened.

“Wanna wait in my room while the water heats up for a shower?” Ian whispers while they take the stairs and Mickey nods, goes in Ian’s room where it smells even more familiar. What now? Shower. He shrugs out of his coat and sits down on Ian’s bed, toes off his boots, wincing at the pain in his shoulder when he tries to lean back. He finishes undressing and waits, listening to the shower going across the hall.

Then Ian comes back in and Mickey looks at him again, _really_ looks at all the blood congealing on his face; can’t help thinking of that sweet face when it was younger and scrubbed clean, staring up at Mickey from between his legs, all shocked and excited and knowing that something was about to happen, but neither of them knowing how big — how fucking _monumental_ — it would be. It seems like a lifetime ago to Mickey.

But Ian smiles, looks at Mickey with some kind of soft look in his eyes, and the sweetness comes back.

“C’mon, water’s ready.”

_What now? Shower._

It’s not really a surprise when Ian follows him into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, but it does make Mickey pipe up finally, feeling a little less like he’s balancing on the head of a pin now that he’s under the spray of water, lets it take the chill away.

“You tryin’ to tell me somethin’?” he says, arching an eyebrow when a naked Ian steps into the tub behind him.

Ian chuckles. “Just that we’re both a fucking mess.”

Mickey looks down at the red circling the drain, blood that’s his and Ian’s and his dad’s and whoever else’s, all sluicing off their bodies and down, down, down. He reaches for the shampoo bottle on the edge of the tub and passes it back to Ian, who huffs a little laugh.

“Came out, didn’t I? Might as well go whole hog, right? Let you do stupid shit like wash my hair.”

Ian squirts some of the shampoo into his palm and starts massaging Mickey’s scalp. Mickey grunts, it feels so nice.

“Makes it all worth it, huh?”

That makes Mickey laugh, though a second later he starts thinking again, starts getting dangerously close to the _too hard_ place even when Ian’s pushing his fingers through his hair again gently, lathering it up.

“Hey,” Ian murmurs, and he turns him so they can look at each other, both of them standing under the spray of water. “It’ll be worth it,” he says, serious, eyes shining with how hard he wants to believe that. His fingers stop their movement, just holding the back of Mickey’s head now.

Mickey blinks at him. “Yeah,” he nods, doesn’t have the energy to do anything but agree. Wants to hope as fervently as Ian does, at least for now.

They finish washing, soapy fingers trailing over pale skin reddened in spots that Mickey knows will turn mottled purple and blue and yellow with bruises, touching each other because they can’t avoid it in the cramped space of the tub, and touching each other just because they can.

“Fuckin’ crazy, man,” Mickey mutters, shakes his head while the back of his hand bumps up on Ian’s battered side delicately. “Taking on my two uncles. Shit was straight out of a Van Damme movie.”

“Really?” Ian grins, leaning into Mickey despite the bruise. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Mickey swallows, not sure if he meant it as one. But he decides not to think about that, so he lets his wet hand trail lower ‘til he’s got Ian’s cock in a soft grip, not much intent behind it yet. Likes the way Ian lets out a heavy breath and leans against Mickey.

“Tryin’ to tell me something?” Ian breathes, shooting Mickey’s words back at him.

Mickey’s mouth twitches, feeling Ian plump up just a little from the touch. “Nah. Sore enough as it is right now. Don’t need to add my ass to the list.”

Ian huffs a laugh and bumps his jaw against Mickey’s, hand wrapping around Mickey’s waist to rest on his hip. He presses kisses to Mickey's neck, his shoulder, and Mickey’s not sure if he’s shivering because of that or because the water’s getting cold.

“Yeah, well,” Ian murmurs, pressed up so close against Mickey that he has to move his hand away and lands it on Ian’s back. “Should probably wait before I, what was it? Give it to you good and hard?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey spits out. He doesn’t move though, just stands there and feels drops of water wiggling their way between his lips and Ian’s skin. Finds his shoulders shaking with laughter while Ian’s do.

Then he hears the metallic squeak of Ian turning the tap off and they get out, wrap themselves in the towels Ian brought in. They swill water and toothpaste at the sink, chuckling a bit when Mickey gives Ian a look at his broken tooth, and if it weren’t for that and the cuts and the bruises and the way Mickey has that little ache deep in his chest that could either be relief or anticipation, or both, it’d be almost like any other night.

They’re quiet while they return to Ian’s room and pull on clean boxers and shirts in the darkness, only the soft, sleepy breaths of Ian’s littlest kid brother in there to keep them company. Mickey doesn’t even think twice about crawling into bed next to Ian. Ian just scoots over, opens his arms, and Mickey goes, the two of them finding ways to fit together, same as they’ve always done.

_What now?_ he keeps thinking, but he’s just so fucking tired; tired of feeling like he’s still running even after he’s crossed the finish line, the race over and done with. And it’s so nice in Ian’s bed, in his space, Ian’s body keeping him warm and his fingers carding through Mickey’s wet hair. It’s easy in a way it’s never been before.

_What now? What now? What now?_

The only thing he thinks before falling asleep is, _Fuck it. It’s this._


End file.
